Osgiliath 1066 TA

It would be another year before Ciryaher Hyarmendacil journeyed to the west, the journey took him long for he visited the lands of Harad and the Ayab-Mamuk and bought of them a great many spices and ivory jewelry and trunks. He also visited with their tribal chieftains and kings who gave him a great many gifts, of ivory, beasts and servants. When at long last he entered Osgiliath, Ciryaher Hyarmendacil gave out lavish presents to passersby and a great throng of people crowded into the forum where the dome of the stars, the throne of Osgiliath and Gondor itself stood in the midsts of the swift flowing Anduin. The King proceeded as one claiming victory, his train throwing the gold of the Harad and the silver of the Hamadjon into the awaiting crowds, cheering Ciryaher's name. At the steps of the citadel the great throngs of people who had followed his procession looked on as he waited outside the chamber of the Lords of Gondor, calling them to meet their king. The lords stepped out and seeing the mass of people did him homage as was fitting a king of Gondor, in a loud commanding voice he asked of them,

"I have come, my noble and faithful vassals and lords to see for myself how the city of Osgiliath thrives under our new found wealth and prosperity. However, I see no new buildings erected! No gymnasiums or public baths or services for our people. I had sent trunks of Eastern wealth for the building of terraced gardens and the development of schools yet I see no signs of this…Where is the wealth that was promised to OUR people."

At this the crowd cheered, some called out the lords by name, one among them, a bent figure whose balding head shimmered in the sunlight,

"My lord, the wealth you have sent has been well kept in the banks and safes in the treasuries of your noble servants for a time when Gondor most needs them."

"I did not face the might of the East nor secure a great alliance so that Gondor could sit upon its treasure like a great worm beneath a mountain! Nor did I secure vast and numerous trade routes so that the people of Gondor would be without the spices of the East, the fabrics of the south or the grain of Khavul! I did not make peace with the dark hordes of Khamul's army so that our people would still be living as though they were at war. No…I did these things so that our people would have peace and prosperity now! Open these treasuries and do as your people command!"

The lords shrank back as the people clamored and called, the king entered the chamber and motioned for the lords to follow him; shutting the shouts of adulation from the crowd outside the Lords of Gondor looked upon their king, some in fear, others in anger and some in polite respect. They looked in silence upon one another before the king spoke, seated upon his throne which was upon a dais beneath a domed ceiling, lit with large chandeliers, their light shimmering off jewels set in the dark sable ceiling.

"Now…there is no simple way to say this, and I would spare each of you the public humiliation of being seen as a seditionist to your king, whom you serve…Word has reached me that there are those among you would seek to set my another upon the throne of Gondor and supplant me! Is this a falsehood? Is this a lie?"

The lords shifted their feet and those who were at the back of the group began to look most uneasy…One among them, the lord of Anfalas spoke,

"My lord, we know not of what you speak…ever have we kept your praise upon our lips."

"Do you? Then why…after 5 years since his birth, to which you all were witness, has my son's name not been written upon the scroll of heirs? Or why is it that when my messengers come back to me they report of a great correspondence between Eriador and Anfalas, where the son of the king of Cardolan is seen riding around the shores of Gondor giving edicts and proclaiming holidays as though he were king?"

This caught the Lord of Anfalas unawares and he staggered back into the group, Ciryaher sat upon the high seat beneath a domed ceiling. His garment shimmered for it was heavily embroidered with silver and gold string; he looked upon them and said,

"If you disagree with how I rule my kingdom then have the courage to come forth and speak to me now, not hide in shadows like some vile writhing vermin, striking only when the master of the house has left!…The rule of Gondor is still in safe hands regardless of where I lay my head at night, the rule of your lands however…is less secure, for you swore fealty to my father and his father before him and on my coronation, though I was a child, you swore that same fealty to me. And it is I alone that can revoke your oath, I alone that can rescind my throne."

There was a great silence the lords of Gondor looked from one to the other, each afraid to come forth and speak, then the silence was pierced by an old and hale voice,

"That is not entirely true…my king."

At the end of the great chamber stood an elderly man, dressed in black and silver and white. He bore a great staff in his right hand and a scroll of parchment in the other. His hair was white and though his body had seen many battles he still stood tall and heavy upon his booted feet. Calmacil, the Lord of Minas Arnor had entered the great doorway, he walked through the group of Lords and stood facing up toward King Hyarmendacil.

"According to the writ of succession, laid down by your father's father, the Kingship of Gondor shall pass only to the blood of Numenor, of a woman born of Numenor, and her offspring lands. If a king should fail to produce such an heir, either by death or illness or madness… this council is well within its rights to seek another of royal blood to produce that heir. And one has been found. As I see it my king, your reluctance to take up your throne in Osgiliath and leave the sun-kissed lands of the East, make me question your desire to rule the kingdom your father left you…"

Ciryaher's eyebrow arched high, his face beginning to burn red in that hall at seeing his own trusted councilor betray him,

"I did not expect this from you Calmacil, and to lie in my presence!"

The man stood from his throne and looked as though he would have killed the old steward yet in a brief moment his eyes opened wide for from the shadows came forth a woman like to him in age; she was of the old Numenorean blood, this he knew by her appearance, yet she wore a dress of poor quality and seemed to be a pauper noblewoman, whose family had long lost their land and kept nothing but their title, such was the condition of some noble families of Gondor. Her hair was silken gold yet some of it radiated white in the light that shone through the high windows and from the chandeliers above and her eyes looked upon him with ageless seduction, marked deeply with a bluish green that mirrored the feathers of a peacock. Behind her stood a young man, his hair like gold as his mothers, yet his eyes were dark blue like Hyarmendacil as was his nose and firm cheek. In his hands he held a small babe and beside him, behind his leg stood another child only 5 years old. Calmacil spoke now, walking to the place where Hyarmendacil stood, his mouth agape. The old man's voice was kind at first, but then as the story progressed it became snide and sarcastic, slithering off his tongue and spilling out like bile.

"This woman told me a fascinating story…she says that you and she lay together when you brought your forces home after that first disastrous battle, she was a young lady then, barely beyond the age of being a child. You promised her wealth and all the glories of your new empire once the war was completed; then you left to the East, in search of allies and other routes to attack the land of Khamul, and never returned. She waited for you, but of course you forgot about her and in that year after you left she bore a son, a bastard son of the king of Gondor. Shamed and ridiculed by her family she was cast out and none believed her story that the babe in her arms was the very son of the king…Does any of this seem familiar?"

Calmacil sat now upon the throne that Hyarmendacil once was on his intense eyes burning into the nape of Hyarmendacil's neck; the king looking at the woman, blinking as though he was trying to wake from a dream, whispered,

"Adunaphel…"

Calmacil nodded his head,

"Yes, that is her name… isn't it my dear?"

The woman approached the kneeling figure of the king and said, softly almost sad and yet a glint of pride was in her eyes,

"Whore they called me…stripped of my title, my land, my home. My son they called bastard, fatherless, a wretch. Promises you made to me, beneath the stars of Varda herself, will you now be faithless my king and leave your grandchildren to scrape a living off of rocks?"

"Such a grave injustice to a noble family cannot go unanswered my king, what will be your answer to this charge? Will you leave this woman to humiliation?"

Ciryaher looked at Calmacil and tears began to well in his eyes, his head hung low and he began to weep; so it came to pass that Ciryaher Hyarmendacil was wed, in the custom of Numenor, to Adunaphel of the family of El-Murazor. His son Alcarin was named heir to the throne of Gondor and his children as well; the eldest, at Ciryaher's request was named Narmacil and the youngest, named by his grandmother, was called Calmacil, after the man who found her among the beggars of the kingdom and lifted her up to be Queen of Gondor.

Word of this never came to the lands of the East, where Anatse watched her son grow into a tall child of 10 years of age; yet fear stuck in her heart, for Ciryaher had not yet returned and any news she sought of him from the traders and soldiers was hushed and silenced. Finally, unlooked for and without pomp the king of Gondor returned to Khavul with a delegation of Gondorian diplomats. He went directly to the Council of the Seven Nations where he reaffirmed his treaty with the new Queen Ashthera and appointed these new men as official diplomats with whom they would hold congress on behalf of Gondor. Anatse, however, was outside of the city walls when he had arrived, yet the chieftain of the Hamadjon, the eldest daughter of Narmacil, whose name was Thiane, rode forth from the council and found her listening intently to a disagreement between two farmers about the use of a common canal. The chieftain bowed low to Anatse and greeted her in the manner of her people, saying,

"Forgive me Queen-once-Goddess, but my mother and father bade me come to you and tell you that your husband has at long last returned…"

Anatse smiling at the girl, nodded and returned to her business saying that she would return to the city shortly. Yet her heart was aflutter, she had long waited for his return and no manner of ill news could banish the smile that was upon her lips, she knew he needed time in Gondor to make secure his throne and to ensure that the Lords of Gondor complied with his wishes. She did not expect it to take this many years yet she was glad that he had finally returned; when her business with the farmers was resolved she leapt upon her horse and sped down the great Eastern road to the gates of the city, her black hair flowing behind her, catching the light of the sun in bright obsidian rivulets. The hooves of her horse and the bells upon its bridle made a bright and gay sound as she raced through the city streets to her home, where she knew he would go after the meeting with the council. The Hamadjon guards that stood watch over her home bowed their heads to her as she ran through the door,

"Cirya! Cirya!"

She called out his name, over and over again, yet no sound came to greet her; she ran throughout the house but could find no stirring of life, not even a whisper. Her brow furrowed as she strode through the rooms and finally found a bent figure crouching by the hearth of the kitchen, his sable velvet cloak shimmering upon the floor. He knelt there talking to a small boy with hair deep black and curled like his mother's; when Anatse entered the room Ciryaher straightened his back and turned, almost reluctantly to face her. The few short years apart from her seemed to have aged him for the lines upon his face were deeply cut and his hair was grayer than it had been when he left; his back also seemed strained, like it was carrying so much weight. Anatse, unheeding this, ran to him, took his head in her hands and kissed him with such a ferocity that he staggered back to catch himself from falling. Smiling she looked into his eyes, which were filled with sorrow and said,

"At long last you return to me, welcome home, my husband! How is Osgiliath? Have things been set aright?"

He looked at her and then turned his face to the young child,

"Cedladl, go into the other room and play…your mother and I must speak with one another."

The boy silently went into the room next door, followed by his father; Ciryaher shut the door, lingering there for a little while, his back turned to Anatse. She followed him and placed her hand gently upon his shoulder,

"Cirya? What is the matter?"

"Please Anatse…don't call me that."

"Why? What happened in the West? Did that rabble take your kingdom from you? Fear not if this is so, we can make you a chieftain of the Utashtegu, as my father was and you can rule a new land here in the East, where your family is!"

"For once in your life woman be silent!"

The anger and fierceness of the voice that uttered from him was so alien that she staggered back; he turned, averting his gaze from her, his eyes red with tears, which soaked his beard along with the mucus that drained out of his nose. He looked like a creature long defeated but still strong and hale, Anatse made to approach him but he held her back,

"I can't Anatse…I am…married."

"Of course you are my love…to me. Tell me what troubles your heart and we can find a solution, together…"

"No…I am married…to you no longer. The bonds that once bound us, as husband and wife, have been severed, I did so this afternoon with the chief magistrate and the Lord Pallando, I only need your consent."

Anatse shook her head, anger and sorrow now beginning to rise in her breast,

"I received no warning of this. Cirya, what is the meaning of this!"

"I would spare you any further disgrace to your people, please Anatse give me your consent now and no one shall be made aware of what has happened here."

"Do you think I care what you would do to me in public! Tell me why? What have I done to merit this cruel action?"

Ciryaher looked at her, like a sick child and sat upon a chair in front of the hearth,

"Before I met you, there was another…a young girl who visited my camps where my soldiers lodged. We spent a night together…I thought she was a simple prostitute…the camp was full of them that night and the wine was freely given and I took too much…"

Anatse reared back as she closed her eyes trying to shut the next few words that would come from his mouth,

"She…she bore me a child, a son…I did not know…"

Her lips quivering Anatse held her arms around her waist as though trying to prevent her entrails from spilling upon the floor. She fell to her knees and instinctually Ciryaher rose to come to her aid; he stooped down to pick her up but like a wild cat she dug her nails into his face and left three small cuts upon his cheek. Screaming he staggered back holding his hand to his cheek where a tiny amount of blood trickled down his face. She stood, her hands balled in fists, screaming like a wounded animal she said,

"Do not touch me!"

"Understand I did what I had to…you are still my love, my soul!"

"You would abandon me, to marry some…opportunistic wretch, with whom you shared a bed for one night? Have all our nights together and all our embraces and joys meant nothing!"

"You do not understand! She was of noble blood; if the people had found out that I had treated a noble woman as such the scandal would have destroyed me, the people would have turned from me and plunged all I have made into chaos! She bore me a son and he has children of his own…I could not treat them like that!"

"So you decide it is best to treat me this way? Because I did not bed you first and only gave you one son? Now I am the harlot, the one to be shoved aside for one of your own kind?"

She beat her hands against his chest tearing herself away from him as he tried to restrain her,

"Anatse…The council would have placed Alcarin in my place…"

"Alcarin? Is this the name of the usurper, the bastard son of a…"

Ciryaher became angry now and struck her across the face,

"Do not call him that!"

Yet immediately he regretted his actions as she stood tall now against him; grabbing him by the cuff of his tunic and with unlooked for strength she thrust him from the room into the hallway. He fell upon his face and turned to face her, though a strong soldier still he did not wish to harm her more than he already had and stood to meet her as she came toward him like a lioness ready to pounce,

"Get out! Get out of my house!"

"Anatse…"

He tried to plead with her,

"Anatse please listen to me."

She stopped where she stood and looked at him coldly, breathing heavily he said slowly,

"My soul yearns to stay here with you, you know it in your heart of hearts, that I …I…I love you. But for the sake of my people and the dignity of my father's throne I had to do what was necessary! But do not think I would abandon you so harshly! I have made provisions, for you and for Uialasse. You are to be made a Favourite of the King, a lady among the council if you so wish, you may even lead your people out of the desert to better more fruitful lands! And he, my child, is to be an adopted heir to the throne of Gondor and treated as a prince of the realm should be; you would not have to worry or toil any more…I can still take care of you, though I can no longer call you my wife!"

Anatse was now furious with rage, it seemed as though the gentle waves of her hair had turned into a torrent that plagued the shores of the sea from time to time.

"So now I have come from wife to harlot to concubine- oh how my lover does treat me with such respect and courtesy? What greater joy can I have than to be named a favourite of the king and have all of Gondor look upon me and my people with scorn! Take your offer and shove it into your new wife's throat for all I care, I am sure it is deep enough with much practice…I will have nothing to do with your kingdom, not as your Favorite or any other title you wish to bestow upon me!"

"But my son…"

Anatse let out a laugh that was cruel and menacing now,

"Do you think that with such crudeness you can take him from me?"

"He is my son Anatse and as a son of Gondor, he should be raised among his people!"

"He is among his people! The people who will truly love him and give him honor and praise as the son of a noble line, a line of wisdom and honor and strength! You will not lay one hand on him as long as I live; you will not take him to be raised as you were and to treat those he professes to love like such burdensome chattel!"

"Anatse…"

"Leave my house!"

He stood to approach her but she held out her hand, pointing at him in an expression of cursing, her eyes lit with an ancient and powerful fire,

"I swear upon the blood of my ancestors you shall know no joy and no peace while you have wronged me and my son! No smile shall come upon your lips for the pain you have caused and may the gods themselves curse you with such grief. Your wealth will bring you no happiness and your kingdom though it prosper shall bring you no joy or peace to your toils…Leave me and return to your whore!"

The shouts of Anatse brought forth the Hamadjon guards that were stationed throughout the house; with swords and axes drawn they appeared into the hallway. Ciryaher was taken from where he stood and thrust out into the street; angrily he slammed his fists against the door yet was met with silence. Anatse stood where the door had closed and waited until he at long last left, before she fell to her knees and wept in despair.

In the next days, Ciryaher made trips to the house of Anatse to plead with her to give him his son yet was again met with silence, finally upon the day he was to leave Anatse came to the door. Tall and hale she would not let him enter but forced him to speak with her in the public streets of Khavul; her arms crossed over her breast she looked at as one with a cold heart and her piercing gray eyes bore into his chest.

"Anatse please…do not condemn our son to living out here, where he can be forgotten. In Gondor he will want for nothing, I will treat him as a prince and will deny him nothing."

"You cannot take him…he is no longer in Khavul. I sent him to live with his grandmother's people in the fastness of the mountains, to learn the ways of his people. You cannot have him and if you march to take him you will crush your forces upon the mountains like a breeze thrust against a stone. No hospitality shall you meet in the desert lands, the land of my people. Leave now Hyarmendacil, and do not grace Khavul with your shadow…it is no longer welcome here."

With that she turned from him and re-entered her house; Ciryaher made to approach but the Hamadjon guards crossed their spears and would not let him enter. Ciryaher journeyed then back into Gondor and no longer made the journey into the East, now ruling his empire from Osgiliath with his son Alcarin by his side.